


A Lack of Understanding

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Mute!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't talk, but Louis doesn't need him to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lack of Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this aaaaages ago on LJ, so this is nothing new. I'm 3k words into a sequel for the few people that were interested. I also have a [tumblr](http://its-rhrj.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to ask about fic or just generally chat.

Louis meets Harry when Louis is ten and Harry is eight. He sticks his tongue out when his mum tells him he has to introduce himself to the new boy across the street, because _really_. Louis is ten and he doesn't have to do anything his mum tells him. He still puts his coat on and goes across the road though, when he sees the curly-haired boy looking at the ground and kicking a pebble, an abandoned football at his side.

"I'm Louis. Tomlinson." Louis sticks his hand out confidently and the boy looks up with big, green eyes and says nothing. The boy's mum comes running over and places a hand on his shoulder, looking at Louis apologetically.

"This is Harry. Harry, say hello," his mum sounds like she's pleading and her eyes dart back and forth between the boys nervously. The boy with curly hair looks up at her, slowly, before looking back to Louis. He looks confused and a bit irritated and so Louis grabs his hand and smiles widely, taking him over to the football.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything. Mum says I talk enough for two people anyway," Louis declares, throwing the football to Harry who catches it (though he wears a surprised expression, like he wasn't expecting to). They play until Harry has to go inside, turning and leaving Louis with no goodbye. Louis tells his mum that he likes Harry, but he thinks he's ran out of words. 

"Will I ever run out of words, mum?" Louis asks a while later. His mum looks at him, sadly, before plastering a grin on her face and chuckling.

"Not likely, boo. You could talk forever," and Louis thinks _phew_.  
__

Harry is ten and Louis is twelve. Louis makes up wonderful stories about pirates and boats and treasure and Harry listens intently, laughing silently and watching Louis with doe eyes. When Louis jumps up and challenges Harry to a duel Harry takes up his imaginary sword and Louis lets him win. Harry speaks with expressions and touches and smiles and that's fine by Louis.

He draws pictures for Louis who keeps them all in the bottom draw of his desk. He'll draw as Louis talks to him, pictures of him and Louis, of him and his mother. Sometimes he'll just draw shapes and colours, using pens and crayons and paints and filling the whole page until there's no white left. Those are Louis' favourites because they're so very Harry.

Sometimes Harry's silence is scary, like when he falls and cuts his knee. He doesn't say anything and Louis wouldn't even have known if it weren't for the quiet tears and the bloody graze. He takes Harry back to his mum and she thanks him profusely. Harry squeezes his hand and blinks his eyes and Louis knows he's saying thank you.

There's times when Harry escapes from everything for a few minutes, eyes closed and arms wrapped around his knees, head tucked in the crook of his elbow. Louis lets him go, watches him silently until his head peeks up from beneath his arm and Louis can start talking again. Harry likes it when Louis plays piano and sings along, content to sit next to him and watch his fingers tapping the ivory and his lips shaping the words. He tries to teach Harry but he's impatient and gets frustrated with himself too quickly. Louis plays Harry's favourite songs instead, the sound wrapping them both up like a safety blanket.  
__

It's when Harry starts secondary school that Louis overhears their mums talking about _trauma_ and _selective mutism_. Strange, psychological words that are stupid really because Harry is just Harry, no fancy words. He goes to Harry's house after his first day at school and his mum’s eyes are red and sore like she’s been crying. She tells him the truth, that Harry’s been taunted at school, but thinks maybe Louis could cheer him up. Louis’ good at that.

He goes upstairs and Harry is lying on his bed, facing the wall with his back to Louis. If it weren’t for the unsteady rise and fall of his body with his jerky breaths and the way his knees were curled right into his chest, Louis’ might’ve thought he was sleeping.

“Hey, curly, stop being mopey,” Louis insists, flopping onto the end of the bed obnoxiously. Harry doesn’t look up, but Louis can see his face from this angle. It’s grey and sullen and lined with tears. “No, no, no. No tears,” Louis insists, folding his arms and trying to look assertive. Harry manages a watery smile and Louis takes that as a cue to clamber over him and slot himself in the space between Harry and the wall. Harry giggles as he shuffles back and the sound hits Louis low in the stomach, tugs at his heartstrings. He stretches a hand out absently and rubs a thumb over Harry’s throat, as if he’s trying to catch the sound and keep it. He thinks he'll never hear anything as wonderful as Harry's laughter. 

He notices a pin badge on Harry’s shirt then, _HARRY STYLES_ in black block-capitals set upon a white background. He frowns and unpins the badge, throwing it over Harry so that it makes a soft thud when it hits the carpeted floor.

“Don’t need that. I know exactly who you are,” Louis mutters. “People are scared of what they don’t understand, Harry. Sucks to be them, though, 'cause they'll never get to know how great you are."

Through Harry's twelve and thirteen and fourteen and Louis' fourteen and fifteen and sixteen, Louis and Harry are inseparable. Louis whispers secrets to Harry who holds them close to his heart and Harry curls into Louis, telling his own secrets in the only way he knows how. People still don't understand but most days it doesn't matter because Louis does and always will. They don't understand the concept of love yet, they're too young, but if Harry gives half of himself to Louis and Louis offers his own half in return it's the closest they need to be for that moment.  
__

Zayn, Louis' friend from school, talks endlessly (it seems) about girls and sex and parties like he's some ridiculous teenage cliché. Louis loves him, of course he does (though he finds it a little obnoxious when Zayn goes on about girls, when Louis made it obvious a while ago that he's very not interested in that particular gender). Liam's quieter, but Louis finds it strange nonetheless after a day with Harry when Liam talks about Danielle or school or life and doesn't use his hands or face nearly as much as Harry does. Niall is Harry's friend and his personality bubbles up and out of him like he can't control it. He's good with Harry, makes him smile and laugh, but even he doesn't understand him.

None of them understand him, really. How Louis can spend so much time with somebody who can't talk to him, how Louis can care so deeply for the strange, mute boy. 

Louis knows so much more about Harry than he does about Zayn, Liam or Niall, though. He knows Harry inside and out and back to front, like he's transparent. He's cloudless sky, unblemished glass, clear ocean water. Louis thinks he loves that about him. There's something caged in him though, something ominous and opaque that lingers beneath the surface that Louis cannot touch with lips or hands or words.

He knows Harry will tell him, in his own way, in his own time.

Louis' been researching Harry's condition (though he hates calling it that) ever since he heard the words, of course he has. He scans through pages and pages of causes, diagnoses and treatments, each piece of information vague and inconclusive. Many accounts say their children simply grew out of it, way before secondary school. Some say their children speak at home, but Harry's mum cries to Louis' mum some nights, says that he doesn't speak a word. Louis learns that this kind of mutism can be caused by severe trauma and that the victims may never speak again. He slams his laptop lid shut at that, guilt consuming him. He doesn't need Harry to speak, loves him all the same with his silence, _but still_. 

He can't help but long to hear the sound of Harry's voice.

Harry is fifteen now and they're sitting in Louis' room and listening to some obscure folk band that Harry's mad for but Louis secretly can't remember the name of. Louis' talking and talking about nothing in particular and Harry has his eyes closed and is bobbing his head to the music. Then, out of nowhere, Harry is humming and Louis is sitting bolt upright. He throws himself off of the bed and over to Harry, pressing a hand to Harry's sternum and stroking up towards his throat, chasing the sound. Harry's humming cuts off abruptly and his forehead creases in frustration, as if he's trying to make the sound again but can't.

Louis presses his lips to Harry's and kisses him slowly, languidly. Harry hesitates but kisses back, stroking his hands up Louis' back and down his arms, squeezing gently to tell Louis that this is okay, this is good. Louis is dizzy with emotion, something unrecognisable burning beneath his skin.

"Harry, Harry," Louis whispers into Harry's mouth, hoping that Harry can borrow the sound and use it for himself. 

Harry doesn't talk but Louis can read him like his favourite storybook. The words are etched into his skin, his smiles, his touches; special words reserved for Louis. Louis traces them with his fingers and lips and treasures them deep inside his heart. Sometimes Harry will kiss Louis right over his heart and Louis hopes that this means _I love you_.

Harry's apologies are soft and always hesitant. His anger is dark and brooding, like thunder, his sadness is cold and lasting, like rain. His love burns so brightly that Louis can only stand so much of it before he has to look away, though he always longs for more. Harry's emotions are tangible, they're forceful and they wrap Louis up and sink through his skin until his very bones are heavy with the weight of them.

The change in their relationship is so subtle that it's easy to miss. The touches linger and there's embraces and kisses now, late at night when it's just them and the dark and the stars. Louis thinks if this is what love feels like, he'd get lost in it forever.  
__

Louis knows that his love won't heal Harry, won't make him speak. He feels bigger than the world sometimes, when Harry laughs and smiles widely and clings to him. Then there's times when he feels so small, like when Harry cries or curls his arms around his stomach as if he's in pain and Louis can do nothing but watch on, helpless. He lets him know that he's here for him though, tells him all the time that he loves him, holds him close to his chest and kisses him sweetly when he needs it. 

"Do you love me?" he whispers into Harry's hair one day and Harry nods and squeezes his hip, turning his face to kiss Louis' collarbone once, twice, three times. They have sex for the first time that night. Harry undresses Louis slowly, cautiously, kissing his stomach and the inside of his thighs. Louis lets him until the younger man tugs at his wrists in an effort to get him to respond, which Louis does by embracing the younger one and turning them so that Harry is pinned between him and the mattress.

He's looking up at Louis with wide eyes and a smile that trusts completely. They kiss and touch and Louis strips Harry of his clothes, hand snaking around his waist and eyes seeking permission from Harry's. Harry closes his eyes and nods as Louis pulls him up to straddle his lap, legs falling either side of Louis' waist and fingers interlocking behind Louis' neck. 

Louis kisses Harry through the initial pain, breaking away only to allow for pants and gasps. The younger one's gasps are barely audible and he rests his head on Louis' shoulder, biting and sucking at the skin there gently. He knows Harry is holding back, that he's scared he'll do something wrong and he wants Harry to let go for once, to not be so reserved.

"It's alright," Louis manages, breathlessly. Harry understands, biting down and sucking a bruise onto Louis' neck. He buries his face right into Louis' neck when he comes between their stomachs, Louis following with a moan, pulling out and curling into Harry's side. The younger one strokes his hair a few times before dragging them for a shower. They kiss under the warmth of the shower water, the atmosphere charged with something big and electric that makes Louis dizzy with it.

They go out drinking with Liam and Zayn and Niall comes too. The boys are loud and Harry is content to listen with a silly smile on his face. He rolls his eyes when Louis asks him if he's alright for the third time, squeezing his hand in reassurance. Louis feels giddy-drunk and lighter than he has in a long time as he pulls Harry out of the pub later, spinning him around and holding him tight. Harry responds with a quiet giggle, wobbling slightly when Louis lets him go. Louis' stomach tightens happily when Liam, Zayn and Niall wrap Harry into a hug to say goodbye. 

Harry kisses him deeply and unreservedly that night and they stay awake until the early hours of the morning, Louis talking about everything and nothing and Harry tracing patterns all over his body with his fingertips.

Louis takes Harry to the beach a few months after his eighteenth birthday (and it's sunny, which is surprising for England). They set up towels and lay down, hands entwined.

"You know we've known each other for ten years," Louis murmurs, tipping his head to the left to regard Harry. Harry nods and squeezes Louis' hand in a gesture that means yes. Then he leans forward and kisses him, soft until he aligns their bodies and deepens the kiss, tugging at the hair at the base of Louis' neck and laughing breathlessly into his mouth. Then, suddenly, his face is tucked into the space between Louis' neck and shoulder and he's tapping Louis' ribs gently but urgently, his way of apologising.

"What are you sorry for?" Louis mumbles into Harry's hair and Harry lifts his head to meet Louis' eyes. They say everything that Harry can't - _sorry for everything, sorry I'm a burden, sorry I can't talk to you_. Louis doesn't tell him it's alright, that he needs no more from Harry than he already has. He's realised after all these years that he doesn't need to say the words for them to be true. Instead he embeds them into Harry's skin with kisses and caresses until the sun is setting and they're packing the car and driving home. Harry rests his head on Louis' shoulder and sleeps there and Louis sings to him softly. 

They get back in the early hours of the morning and Louis takes Harry to his house and tucks him up under duvets and blankets. Then he crawls in with him and tugs Harry close so that he's flush against his body. They'll probably wake up and kick off the layers later, complaining about the heat, but right now the warmth soothes them both to sleep like a lullaby. Harry smells like salt water and sand and it reminds Louis of pleasant memories.  
__

Suddenly, it seems, Harry grows distant. He's unresponsive and temperamental and it's always Louis that has to make the effort now. Their kisses and touches become few and far between and sometimes Harry won't even make eye contact. It's after two weeks of this that Louis loses it.

"Stop it! Just fucking _stop it_ , Harry!" He regrets raising his voice the moment he sees Harry's face, scared and ashamed. His voice breaks a little on his next words.

"I need to know if you don't want to be with me anymore, Harry, because I can't carry on like this." Louis throws his hands in the air, exasperated, watching Harry bite the skin around his thumb and take big, shuddery breaths. He's trying not to cry and Louis can't even comfort him because he's supposed to be angry.

Harry shakes his head furiously, avoiding eye contact with Louis and blinking away the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes and give him away.

" _Harry_ , please, I just... I don't understand, I want to understand. Fuck, I'm in love with you Harry! Why are you pushing me away?" Louis pleads, a note of desperation ringing clear from his voice. He sighs when Harry puts his head in his hands, no longer acknowledging him and turns to leave. 

" _Louis_." The voice is raw and pained and _it can't belong to Harry, it can't it can't it can't (can it?)_. Louis whirls on his heel and Harry is looking up at him, trembling, face wet with tears. He's caught between sadness and confusion and Louis still can't believe that Harry just spoke, the first time Louis has heard his voice in ten years. It's painful and beautiful and Louis doesn't realise that he's crying until Harry is right in front of him, thumbs wiping away the tears and eyes heavy with apologies. 

"You did it," Louis whispers, stroking a thumb over Harry's mouth in disbelief. 

"For you," Harry whispers and Louis cries harder, pulls Harry to the floor so that they're sitting before burying his face in the space between Louis' neck and his shoulder. Harry soothes him with a hand stroking down his back but he's still shaking so Louis pulls the duvet off of the bed and wraps them both up in it. He says sorry over and over again but Harry shakes his head. They fall asleep there on the floor, leaving the questions of why and when until the morning.  
__

Harry talks. Not a lot and only when he needs to, but he talks. Sometimes his sentences are muddled (because though he's intelligent and he understands, putting it into practice after so many years of silence is still difficult) and he still prefers to talk with his hands and face. 

He tells Louis why first. It takes a long time and he takes slow, drawn out breaths to stop himself from crying. He tells Louis that when he was six he witnessed his mother's boyfriend beat her. She had a broken wrist and two fractured ribs and was hospitalised. Fell down the stairs, she said. The man responsible had turned to Harry, who clutched at the door frame with little hands and sobbed and whispered right into his ear with whisky-stained breath that he'd kill him if he told a soul. So Harry hadn't told anyone. He hadn't uttered a word for twelve years.

Louis is there when Harry tells his mum. She sobs openly, pulling Harry in and clutching at him, whispering apologies until her voice is hoarse with them. He isn't there when Harry tells doctors and counsellors, but he waits outside and holds his hand and kisses his cheek when he comes out of various scary looking rooms.

Harry has speech therapy sessions twice a week. He doesn't like talking in front of large groups of people and he's silent around strangers, but he likes to talk to Louis. He sings too, quietly enough so that Louis can just hear him. He'd always told himself he didn't need to hear Harry's voice, resigned himself to the fact that Harry would never speak. Now though, he finds it hard to imagine never hearing Harry's low, husky tone again, not being able to hear him laugh properly or sing quietly.

"I love you." It's not the first time he's said it but it's the first time he's _said_ it and Louis takes the words and locks them deep inside his heart, like a secret, reserved for him and Harry.


End file.
